


Scars

by thenakednymph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: Lance is self-conscious about his scars but to Keith each one is the life of someone he loves. Someone who's still there because of Lance.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This is only half edited because the past several seasons have left me feeling the need for CLOSURE and if they aren't going to give it to me I'll give it to myself. So here's someone talking about Lance dying (sort of) and the scars that left behind.

Lance stares down at his hands, steam curling around him from the shower. It strikes him as odd, how little he's looked at his hands, but now that he has he can't stop. They’re so different from a year ago.

His palms are thick with callouses, a finger on his left hand a little crooked from that time he broke it. There's a scar by his thumb he doesn't remember getting. Another on the back of his hand he does. And running through them all are the twisting fractal burns he carries now, permanently a part of him; he's still not used to the sight.

He resists the urge to pull on the old pair of fingerless gloves he found tucked into the pocket of his coat all those months ago. He's taken to wearing them again recently. If the others notice they don't say anything and if they do he's quick to brush it off. He doesn't want them asking.

It's strange how rapidly things can change he thinks, wandering out of the bathroom. He tugs on a pair of sweats but gets distracted by his reflection in the mirror. He's covered in scars and somehow that surprises him. He remembers the wounds, remembers all of them. But somehow he'd never taken a moment to stop and _see_ them. He turns and faces the mirror fully, eyes roving over himself, feeling like a stranger in his own skin.

And it’s not just the scars, it's the bruises too. There's one on his shoulder from where a laser blast knocked him into the far wall during their last fight. He'd struck the wall hard enough his entire arm had gone numb.

He turns slightly, staring at the deep purple and red mottling of the bruise on his skin, studying it. It still hurts when he moves it wrong. He rotates his shoulder as if to check, wincing slightly when there's a twinge of discomfort at the movement. It reminds him of dislocating the same shoulder only a month ago and he pokes it tenderly. The pod had stitched him up seamlessly, leaving nothing but the memory of the pain and it feels eerie; to have a memory of the wound but no evidence to show for it.

His fingers slide away, catching on his collarbone, remembering how painful it had been when he'd broken it. Another injury that had left him without a scar.

He runs through a mental catalogue of every injury he's sustained in the last year and there are a lot. More than he can remember getting. More than the visible scars he wears. There are numerous other injuries he carries that no one else will ever see but that he knows are there. He remembers breaking his arm, that time he fractured his wrist, when his leg snapped under a Galran maul. It had only been the paladin armor he wore that kept the weapon from turning his leg to pulp.

He pokes at the cheekbone he'd once shattered getting into a fist fight with a Galran commander. That one had hurt. They'd all hurt.

His body bears the scars of the war they've been fighting and it hits him for the first time that it really is a war.

Lance glares at his reflection, hating every scar and his hands flex idly by his sides. His door slides open abruptly and Lance nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus!” He jerks in surprise, glaring at the intruder, his heart racing when he sees that it's Keith. “Knock much?” He puts his hands on his hips turning to face him, but whatever Keith was going to say is caught in his throat at the sight of Lance standing there shirtless.

The silence stretches awkwardly and Lance crosses his arms over his chest, self-conscious. Keith's eyes track the movement, his expression one Lance can't quite name, but he doesn't say anything.

“You mind?” Lance snaps but Keith is still staring except now his eyes are moving, roving aimlessly down the expanse of open skin and Lance flushes, curling his arms tighter across his chest.

Lance is ready to snap at him again when he sees Keith's eyes snag on one of his scars.

“How did you get that?” he asks before Lance can even open his mouth to berate him. He takes two steps inside, the door sliding shut behind him.

Keith is staring at a scar low on Lance's abdomen nestled between the curve of his hip and the band of his sweats, below his navel. It's a small puckered knot and Lance remembers it well. He looks down anyway, fingers covering the scar as if to hide it with a frown.

“Took a laser blast for Pidge,” he mumbles, snatching a shirt to pull it on over his head, desperate to hide it. The weight of Keith's hand on his arm stops him and Lance glances up, surprised to see him standing that close. He hadn't heard Keith cross the room.

“This one?” His finger flicks over the twisted arch of scars encasing Lance's forearm. Lance frowns, turning his arm to look at it.

“Stuck my arm in the mouth of a rabid whatchamacallit on this planet like, six months ago.” He frowns, trying to remember. “Tried to take a bite out of Hunk. Can't remember what Coran called it.”

Keith nods thoughtfully eyes still trailing over the scar, his fingers stroking over the skin idly. He takes both of Lance's hands in his own, his movements slow and oddly languid as he turns them, looking at the fractal scars.

There's a question in his eyes, same as the others and Lance rolls his eyes. “Where is this going Keith? What's this about?”

He steps out of his reach, pulling his hands free. His skin is buzzing where Keith had touched him and he can't shake the sensation.

Keith's eyes flick to the gash across Lance's chest. One of the first really bad wounds he'd taken outside their first fight with Sendak. Lance knows Keith remembers him getting that one and is surprised when he asks anyway.

“Tell me how you got that one.”

Lance’s face warps into a deep scowl, his shoulders curling. “What the hell Keith. You know how I got that one.” He finally pulls his shirt on over his head, wincing as it twists his shoulder painfully, turning his back to Keith as he does. The series of small shrapnel scars from where he'd saved Coran’s life, literally throwing himself between the Altean and a bomb are briefly exposed.

“Saving your life, asshole. Or do you not remember that Galra sneaking up behind you ready to gut you like a fish before I shoved you out of the way?”

To his surprise Keith doesn't rise to the bait. His expression is shuttered but soft and when he speaks so is his voice. “So why do you look at all of them like you hate them?” he asks and Lance goes cold.

Moving is hard, like he's swimming through ice water and it takes him ages to turn around and face Keith. Keith whose voice and expression are so tender it hurts.

“What?” It comes out more breathy than he'd intended.

Keith looks unbearably sad in a way Lance doesn't understand. He doesn't like feeling watched. He's exuberant and dramatic sure, but there's a level of invisibility there. Now Keith is looking at him like he's really seeing him and Lance is terrified, cornered in his own room with nowhere to run.

Keith's expression firms. “You heard me.” He takes a half step forward into Lance's space.

Lance's hands twitch at his sides and he feels the need to pull on his gloves again.

Keith takes another step towards him. “Everyone has seen it Lance. The way you look at yourself, talk about yourself like you're disposable. Like every one of these is a mistake. A screw up.” He gestures at the scars still exposed along Lance's arms from beneath the short sleeves and Lance pulls on his jacket with a scowl, covering them.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He tries to step around him but Keith blocks the door.

“You were doing it just now.”

Lance flushes and looks away. He doesn't know what to say. Keith is too close to the truth and the truth is bruised and soft and sore and something Lance doesn't want to be anywhere near.

“Do you know what I see?” Keith whispers.

In spite of himself Lance freezes, curious. His eyes search Keith's face, looking for answers, looking for mockery and finding none. He feels his heart in the back of his throat and he has to swallow it down before he can speak.

“No,” he says and it comes out choked. He's surprised when Keith reaches out, fingers ghosting over Lance's knuckles, stroking over the fractal scars.

“I see the life of someone I care about. Someone who's still here.” He looks down at their hands, thumb running over the scars across Lance's hands. “Because of you.” He glances up at Lance. “You earned every one of these,” he says softly. “So please, don't be ashamed of them.” He squeezes Lance's hand one last time before stepping away and just like that, the moment's gone.

“Come on, I came to tell you dinner is ready. We're gonna be late.” He disappears as quickly as he'd come and Lance is left staring after him, feeling the equilibrium of the universe shift. It's a disorienting feeling and Keith's sudden departure, as if he hadn't felt it, leaves Lance reeling.

He toys with the gloves still hiding in his jacket pocket, chewing on his lip. After a moment he pulls them out, leaving them sitting on the nightstand by his bed and follows Keith. He still wears the jacket, still self-conscious about the scars and how he looks, but maybe it's a step in the right direction. And with Keith leading the way he thinks it's a step he’s willing to take.


End file.
